


ad astra

by arrogantum



Category: Spiritfarer (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrogantum/pseuds/arrogantum
Summary: stella, through gwen.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	1. i. the hanged man

When you wake up, you jolt awake. Your soul tears its way out of your dying body and thrusts itself into the spirit realm, slotting you into a world you’ve never seen before like you belonged there. You’ve never put any effort into being subtle, of course you wouldn’t start now.

It’s strange, living on this little island. You don’t know anyone, you have no idea how to escape, and you’re hungry. All the spirits that live with you look exactly the same, going about their day-to-day lives in those stupid little capes that only allow their eyes to show through. You hate it here, truly. You want to go home, and less than that, you just want to smoke.

Then, it hits you. The air stills, just for a moment, and then you _know_. She’s here.

You meet Stella again. She is bright; and brilliant; and her giggle alights a warmth in your chest you thought died off decades ago. She reaches her hand out, her eyes asking you to come with her.

So you go.

You return to her boat with her. It’s a dingy old thing, it creaks with the waves and bobs in a way you’re not sure is OSHA compliant. But this isn’t Earth anymore, and you don’t look the way you used to, so who are you to judge? Stella offers you a raspberry, probably some dirty berry she picked while chopping trees on an island with Daffodil.

You refuse, your nose wrinkling in disgust, “Mmm... No, sorry, Stella.... You know I can't eat fruit for the life of me. I've tried! But I just can't.”

Stella pouts in that way she always does and sprints off, her hat bouncing with her steps. What you wouldn’t give for a good cup of fucking coffee.

You try to get settled in the guest house on the boat. It’s small, much smaller than you’re used to, but you’ll make do. Maybe you should mention building a room to Stella? She certainly doesn’t seem to have any qualms about erecting as many buildings as possible.

The next time you see her, she has a massive bowl of popcorn clutched in her arms. As she approaches, a couple of kernels of popcorn tip out of the bowl into Daffodil’s eagerly waiting mouth. The cat meows happily and goes back to toying with the Everlight in its collar.

"Oh, thank you, Stella.” You laugh, for the first time in a while, at the way she beams when she presents the bowl to you, “I love comfort food so damn much."

And then, in one movement, your dearest friend throws her arms around you. You swallow thickly, desperately blinking away tears and surprise, and wrap your arms around her, your antlers rubbing gently against her cheek. 

“Thank you. I needed that.”

When Stella pulls away, she bears a grin that would put the sun to shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i know gwen is supposed to be the first to leave, but i loved the way she loved stella, so i don't care, i'm keeping her here. anyways, it's been a long, long time since a game has captured me the way spiritfarer has. i've cried so many time when sending people off, it's ridiculous, how dare the developers make me care so much about these character and then make me let them go.
> 
> obviously, there are going to be spoilers for the whole game, so proceed with caution!!


	2. ii. the fool

Stella returns from a routine supply gathering trip with another spirit behind her. He chatters giddily and claps his hands in an obvious excitement; frankly speaking, he’s a hell of a racket and you just want to get his spiritual transformation over with.

With a bright flash of light, a massive blue frog towers over your head. He has a wide smile that bears some resemblance to Stella’s, and it clicks that this is the uncle she always spoke about that disappeared suddenly.

His name is Atul, and you like him. Well, as much as you can like a man so close in age with… well. You know who. At least this man isn’t the type of man who would willingly abandon his family, not with the way he speaks so affectionately about his daughter and wife.

Atul is a cheerful man, if a bit airheaded, constantly humming and jumping around the boat. He makes small repairs to the buildings on the boats, and while you appreciate his maintenance, you hate the banging and loud noises of the process. You can’t bring yourself to hate him that much, though, since he’s kind enough to do any repairs you need to your house and the loom.

Ah, the loom.

It’s a beautiful thing, the loom that Stella built at your request. It’s as lovely as the house she built for you, and you love her all the more for building them for you. From your seat in the loom, you can hear Atul’s hearty laughter as he slaps Stella’s back. You like that he calls her sprout, for some reason. The way the nickname tumbles out of his mouth is so lovely and kind, a part of you wants him to make a nickname for you. You, of course, would never say such a thing out loud, but it’s nice to think about sometimes. You weave a few more pieces of cotton into cotton thread before standing and calling it quits.

“Atul,” you call out, seeing his silhouette against the setting sun at the bow of the boat, “are you hungry? I’ll ask Stella to make us something to eat, if you’d like.”

Atul’s body twitches, like he’s waking from a trance, and turns to you with another boisterous smile.

“Ah! Thank you kindly, young miss! I would never refuse a delicious meal from my favorite niece!” You don’t miss the way Atul labors over the emotion in his voice, smoothing out the creases in his consciousness like he’s trying to hide his heart.

But you know what it’s like to want to scream into the void, shouting for answers, only to be greeted with a hollowing silence, to want desperately to grab the world by its collar and wring out even a droplet of happiness.

So you don’t ask him. You nod and walk away, climbing the ladder to the small field where Stella is tilling the soil to ask her for some food. Perhaps Atul is more complex than you thought.

You still don’t ask, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atul's disappearance devastated me. i literally could not move for a good hour after he left, it was terrible the way he just vanished.


	3. iii. temperance

You like Summer. Certainly, she can get tedious and irritating with her constant talk of chakras and meditation, but you find you don’t mind when she’s actually a decent conversationalist. 

She introduces Stella to the dragons, and it terrifies you. You hate when Stella faces down the fierce beasts, when she jumps directly into the dark water to smash the crystal growths on the dragons’ backs. But you can see Stella growing, learning about Summer’s traumas and helping her face her fears. How beautiful she looks, when smashing through the darkness with only her determination and the Everlight. You ruffle her hair when she leaps back onto the boat with an armful of aluminum ore balanced against her chest, laughing when she almost drops the pile.

When Summer speaks about Rose, her lost love, her eyes grow melancholy. She must’ve loved her deeply, in a way you don’t think you’ve ever understood. You smoke your pipe next to her while she pets Daffodil, the silly cat rolling in between the space between her and Stella’s napping body.

“Rose was incomparable,” Summer begins quietly, “and I loved her incomparably.”

In between pulls on your churchwarden pipe, you take a sip of your coffee, the cup that Stella gave you before she decided to take a nap, feeling the sea breeze rustle your fur. The boat surges forward on the ocean, powered by the sunlight and Stella’s unwavering determination. Summer’s voice flows through the air and fills it with the soft smell of nostalgia, her scales shimmering in the light.

“What was it like?”

Summer turns to you inquisitively, urging you to clarify, “What was what like?”

“Being in love,” you mutter, almost sheepishly, “What was it like?”

Summer chuckles, and for some reason it doesn’t feel at all condescending. “I’m not sure how I would describe it,” she muses, “but I never wanted it to end. Every day felt like a new chance to learn and grow, a new chance to become someone better.”

“Why did you love Rose?” You ask, your voice barely above a mumble.

Summer is only serene, “How could I not?”

Indeed, indeed. How could she not. You glance over at Stella, her small frame rocking with the boat along the waves. 

Yeah. How could she not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, really, really loved summer. the way she spoke about rose was so beautiful!! god i love my lesbian aunt


	4. iv. the empress

Alice is a wonderful old woman. She’s so motherly and caring, and the rice pudding she makes is to die for.

For the most part, you don’t interact with Alice that much, but you gain a new respect for the old lady the first time your motley crew bumps in the Nebula pill bugs. Alice is supremely gentle with the mother pillbug, directing Stella to collect the baby bugs and the Nebula fibers they drop.

It’s… incredible, to be honest. How did she know what the Nebula bugs wanted? How did she so quickly reassure it they would help it?

“How did you know what the bug wanted?” You ask her one day, when you find her calmly collecting peaches from the orchard Stella constructed. Alice spends most of her time here or in the kitchen, constantly bustling about and making sure every member of the crew has eaten.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have,” Alice grunts and tugs at a particularly stubborn peach, “you learn that all people really need, most of the time, is a little bit of help. It’s what we all want.”

Alice slowly descends the ladder, leaning against the tree in exertion, “Goodness, I can’t climb the way I used to. Be a dear and walk me to the kitchen, won’t you?”

You offer an elbow for Alice to grab hold of and make your way to the kitchen. 

“You see?” Alice chortles, “We all need a little bit of help. Even you, my dear, even Stella.”

Time passes quickly, smearing by like wet paint on paper. Your little ship grows exponentially larger, and you finally break through the ice and find yourselves in frigid waters. Stella delightedly fishes up snow crabs and yellowfin tuna, excited to cook new dishes, and the boat soon stops at Nordweiler. 

Nordweiler is beautiful in the way that snowy towns often are, reminding you of a ski trip you once took with your father in the Alps. Hm. Perhaps you hadn’t purged yourself of your memories of him as cleanly as you’d thought. 

You don’t have a chance to let your mood turn bitter, though, because when Stella returns from her little vacation with Alice, something has shifted. Alice mutters to herself, asking constantly for Eugene and Annie, and snapping at whoever tried to help her. It becomes apparent, before long, that it’s almost her time to go. Stella wraps a wool blanket around Alice’s shoulders, and it feels like the final nail in the coffin.

Alice is the first to leave. You gather at the back of the boat, watching Stella row Alice away to the Everdoor. Summer leans her head on your shoulder while Atul sniffles loudly, waving his webbed hand in the air furiously in a final, tearful goodbye.

Stella doesn’t return until nighttime. When she does, she seems just a little bit more melancholy, just a little bit more deflated. Alice’s words ring in your mind, _we all need a little bit of help. Even you, my dear, even Stella._ So you hold your arms out to her, and she launches herself into your arms.

The air smells like apple pie and orchids, just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i admit, i was actually kind of upset at alice when she started complaining when we came back from nordweiler, but after a while i couldn't help but feel so bad for her. she spent her entire life caring for others and being concerned for others' wellbeing, but no one ever bothered to check on her. and when we did take her on vacation, she couldn't even enjoy it without her body limiting her movement.


	5. v. strength

When you meet her for the first time, you get the overwhelming sense that Astrid is a one-of-a-kind type of woman. She is strong, unyielding, and incredibly warm, not just because her fur is fun to hug. Astrid arrives on the boat not long after Summer makes her way through the Everdoor. You miss her dearly, everything reminding you of her.

(You even meditate sometimes, despite telling Summer you thought meditation was “stupid and useless.”)

In between pointing Stella in the direction of possible allies, she talks about her experiences when she was still alive. She sits, prim and proper, in her room, and sips her tea, a simple blend of chamomile and rosehip. 

“My grandmother, of course, was my inspiration,” Astrid says, almost beaming with pride, “she was an incredible woman, one of the strongest people I knew.”

“She sounds incredible,” you say, popping a piece of cornbread into your mouth, “my family isn’t so admirable.”

Astrid’s laugh is hearty, ringing through the room. She reaches over and pats your hand, the pads of her paws soft against yours, “Who says we need an admirable family to be admirable ourselves? We simply need the courage to speak against injustices we see. That is enough, is it not?”

God, that’s easy for her to say. Ms. I-hid-Jews-in-my-basement-during-Nazi-Germany is definitely courageous, maybe even altruistic. When you look at Astrid, you can see someone who is the beacon of moral righteousness, but you also see a lonely woman. She’s surrounded by friends and people she’s helped, but you can see the toll it takes on her.

“Is it,” your voice catches, and you clear your throat, “is it worth it?”

Astrid looks almost shell-shocked that you would ask this, opening her mouth in an indignant retort. You cut her off as quickly as you can, “I-I mean, is it worth helping everyone else if no one is willing to help you?”

Astrid blinks, a few times, sitting back in thought. “Yes,” she finally says, “of course it is. What would this world be if every relationship we had was transactional? Our greatest strength comes, perhaps, not from our ability to help those around us, but our ability to love them regardless of their reactions to our help.”

You can tell she’s thinking of her husband, the one she’s rolled her eyes about when complaining about his serial womanizing. And yet, there’s an immense and deep love when she talks about him, a love that is so unconditional and unwavering, you’re almost jealous.

You have no idea whether you’re jealous because you never found someone to love like that or because there’s never been someone to love you like that. Regardless, you nod, picking at leftover crumbs from your cornbread, and you stare out the window to the vast ocean.

“Are you lonely, Astrid?”

Astrid chuckles, a comforting and tender sound, “How could I be, when I have you and Stella? Besides, I doubt what I’m feeling is loneliness. Old age, perhaps?”

You snort, “You’re not that old!”

Astrid laughs at this, “Oh my sweet girl, you flatter me. I am young at heart, certainly, but this old frame creaks with our lovely boat. It will be my time, soon.”

This gives you pause. You honestly hadn’t thought about the day Astrid decides to leave, and you don’t want to think about it. You love her like you loved Alice, the pain of the older woman leaving still aching.

Astrid leans over and kisses you on the forehead, her paws cupping your face. “Do not mourn my leaving, my darling, just talk to me now, while you can, and help me convince Stella to find that stupid husband of mine.”

You grin, pushing back tears, “Yes ma’am.”

It will be lonely, when Astrid decides to leave. It’s always lonely when people leave. But maybe, just maybe, you can learn to send them off with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. yeah. i think i liked astrid the most out of all the passengers. i've never had a grandmother before, as all of my grandparents died before i was born, but i like to imagine astrid is what having a grandmother would be like.


	6. vi. the lovers

Giovanni is… an interesting presence on the ship. You don’t like him, of course, but sometimes you do see a tenderness shining through his flamboyant exterior. You hate it when he flirts with you, but it’s surprisingly comforting when he leans over your shoulder while you weave thread and shows a genuine interest in the process.

“My, bambina, how talented you are!” He exclaims the first time he sees you in the loom, “How incredible! How commendable!”

You can feel your face scrunching up in irritation, but before you have a chance to retort, Giovanni wraps a strong arm around you in a warm hug, “There hasn’t been anyone to make good ol’ Giovanni cloth in many years!”

Maybe you’ve grown accustomed to the way men insist on hiding their feelings, or maybe you’re just deluding yourself, but there’s something there, just a small kernel of sincerity peeking out from the surface of his psyche. So you let him hug you, and, begrudgingly, ask him what kind of clothes he wants you to make. 

After a while, Giovanni’s presence is a constant one, even as Astrid kicks him out of her room and Giovanni begs Stella to make a guest room for him. Truly, you’re not surprised that Astrid doesn’t have more patience with him. Even after he promises her he wouldn’t cheat on her again, Stella still found him with some skank named Jennifer in Oxbury. 

He bought her roses! And fucking chocolate! With Stella’s money! You cannot believe the audacity of the man, and even you refuse to speak with him for a few days. You see Atul patting the man on the back one evening, in a silly attempt to comfort him. Why would he be the one that needed comfort? He’s the one who cheated on Astrid, not the other way around.

“I think we need to be a bit more patient with him,” Atul chides you gently over dinner, “I think things might be a bit more complicated than we think they are.”

“How?” you roll your eyes, pushing the seafood in your bowl onto his massive plate, “What other excuse could he give? That’s what men like him always say, ‘oh I didn’t mean to! I just had a moment of weakness I’ll never do it again!’ And they’ll go right back to their shitty behavior in a weekend.”

Atul laughs heartily at your light-hearted mockery, patting his belly in what seems to be a force of habit. “Forgiveness is a difficult art, I admit, but it’s a necessary one. Giovanni knows what he did was wrong, he just needs time.”

“How much time could he possibly need if he knows what he did was wrong?” You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, unable to believe that Atul would say something so asinine. 

A somber look sweeps over Atul’s face, darkening his expression for just a moment. “Sometimes, Gwen, people don’t have the luxury of explaining their actions. Sometimes it’s too late, sometimes they don’t know how, and sometimes they just can’t. It’s how people are.”

“Is this,” you cough uncomfortably, “is this about… you know.”

“My death?”

You clasp your hands together sheepishly, “Yeah.”

Atul sighs and sets his fork down, turning away from you and towards Giovanni’s lone figure at the back of the boat. “I don’t know.”

There’s a few minutes of quiet, of feeling the waves of the ocean rock the boat from side to side, of munching on your food. In the calm, you wonder if you can give Giovanni just a little bit more time. Your entire life has revolved around waiting, what is a little bit more?

If you had waited a little bit more for your father, would he have loved you? Would he have come back and approved of you?

With a huff, you shake your head. There’s no use thinking about it now. Fine. So be it. If it’s time Atul is asking of you, then time it is.

Giovanni asks Stella to take him to the Everdoor a day later. It’s unexpected (and yet, completely understandable), but the entire crew takes it in stride. The night before Giovanni leaves, you join him inside his guest room. It’s decorated to the brim with plants and alcohol paraphernalia, a cozy nook in the corner for relaxing. You realize, slowly, that you’ve never actually been in Giovanni’s room before, and in turn, you realize you’ve never really talked to him before.

“Are you ready?”

Giovanni shoots you a coy, but tired, smile from the bar, where he’s mixing margaritas for the two of you. “As ready as I’ll ever be, bambina.”

“That doesn’t sound very confident,” you say skeptically.

“But I don’t need confidence, do I?” Giovanni hands you a glass, “I just need Stella and a little bit of love.”

You sip the margarita, intent on just humoring the man, but it’s surprisingly delicious. Dammit, this bastard knows how to make a mean cocktail. Giovanni settles across from you in a lounge chair, his tail swishing around in a pleased manner as he tastes his creation.

“You know,” he begins, “I do have some regrets about the life I’ve lived.”

You snort, “That’s shocking.”

Giovanni throws his head back in a roar of a laugh, “Yes, yes, Atul’s told me about your feelings towards me. I don’t blame you, bambina. I’m sure any reasonable person would find my actions reprehensible.”

“Are you saying Atul isn’t reasonable?”

“Certainly! Have you not met the man? An absolute delight, to be sure, but perhaps just a few screws loose.”

You laugh at that, swirling your drink in agreement. “And Astrid?”

Giovanni says nothing, but you can see him gazing towards the ceiling where Astrid’s room is located, where she’s been holed up for the past few days.

“Yes, Astrid. The love of my life, truly, loved me enough to put up with a life with me,” he sighs, setting his empty glass on the coffee table, “I think you’ll find she is included in my regrets.”

“If you _knew_ you were hurting her, why would you still do it?” You can’t bring yourself to modulate your harsh tone, frustrated with Giovanni’s inability to just be faithful, “You even cheated on her here, after promising you wouldn’t!”

“I know, bambina, I’m the one that did those things,” there’s a bitter mirth in his voice now, “sometimes people lack the ability to explain why they do things. I believe I am one of those people.”

You don’t say anything, you just rub your antlers in thought.

“I’ve been surrounded by brilliant people my entire life,” Giovanni taps a nervous rhythm on his armrest, “but never once have I lived up to their brilliance. Have I told you the story of my friend who died in the war?”

You shake your head, sitting up straighter in your seat.

He nods and takes a deep breath. “When I was fighting in the war, I watched friend and foe alike die. It was horrible. But, even as soldiers we were able to find joy in the small pleasures of life. Our favorite delicacy on the battlefield was spaghetti and meatballs. Funny, isn’t it? Such a simple dish, but it brought us such elation.”

You watch Giovanni’s eyes grow misty with nostalgia, his paws stroking his mane slowly.

“One day, my friend steps on a mine. It blows half his body away!” Giovanni throws his arms up into the air, imitating the sound of an explosion, “I sat with him while he was dying, you see? He said to me, ‘don’t let anyone else eat my share of the spaghetti.’ Until the moment he died in my arms, he was still brilliant.”

He looks back up at you, and you can see nothing but inky black sadness in his eyes. “Everyone around me has always been brilliant, especially Astrid. She is so warm and bright, everything about her is so beautiful. That’s why I fell in love with her.”

Giovanni falls quiet once again, but you know what he’s trying to say. Astrid is such an incredible woman that it’s hard to stand near her without accidentally dulling her shine. You know. You know exactly what that’s like, thinking back to a certain brilliant best friend you have.

The rest of the night is filled with quiet conversation, the two of you trading stories of your lives over glasses of wine and pints of beer. For once, you don’t hate Giovanni, for once he doesn’t remind you of your father.

The next day, before he climbs down into the canoe with Stella, you hold him close. 

“Goodbye, Gwen,” he grins at you one last time, “thank you for listening to this old man’s rambling.”

You smile back at him, kissing his cheek. “I’ll miss you, Giovanni.”

You loop your arm around Astrid’s shoulders when you watch him go, holding her a little bit tighter when you hear her sniffle. You still don’t want to forgive Giovanni for hurting Astrid, but you think you can breathe just a little bit easier now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh! a longer chapter this time, but i have so many thoughts on giovanni. i really loved his character, i didn't love the way he treated astrid, but i think he's an incredible study in the ways that ptsd and trauma can affect a person. i don't think trauma affected the way he couldn't commit to someone (never use trauma to justify hurting other people!!), but i do think there's a reason he never confided in astrid. astrid was so capable and charismatic, i imagine it's difficult to talk to her about your troubles without her telling you to just buck up and find a solution, lol.
> 
> anyways, enjoy! i really liked writing this chapter


	7. vii. the magician

Not long after Giovanni’s departure, Stella finds a grumbling Gustav. It’s fun to fuck with Gustav sometimes, to hide his violin or, your new favorite pastime, shoot a random, inexplicable hot take at him and refuse to explain for hours, watching his feathers slowly (literally and metaphorically) get ruffled. 

While Gustav is tolerable for the most part, he can get pretentious when talking about “the preservation of humanity through art.” Ugh. Smug asshole.

And it’s not like you’d been to any shortage of art galleries before, you just hated going because it meant hours of staring at a canvas and speaking about “color theory” and “symbolism,” or any other nonsensical pseudo-artsy topic until someone inevitably got up to propose a toast.

“I really just don’t see a point in trying so hard to collect art,” you roll your eyes at Gustav over your coffee, “art collectors are just fat bureaucrats that want to show off their money. I would know, my uncle was one.”

Gustav gasps so loudly, you’re almost afraid his lungs are going to collapse, throwing a wing dramatically against his chest, “How dare you! I will have you know that I am never going to be as selfish and self-serving as an art collector, I am an art curator, do not mix them up!”

Your eyes pop open, “THAT’S what you have a problem with? The title? Not that I see you as a pretentious asshole?”

“Hmph!” Gustav sniffs derisively, “May I remind you, madam, that art curators do not own the art that they select, we simply choose them to bestow upon the public.”

You roll your eyes and flap a dismissive hand at him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Might I add,” Gustav flicks a wayward feather in your direction, “that perhaps you would benefit from an artistic experience yourself? You seem to be hiding quite a bit.”

“Gustav,” you heave a ragged sigh, “what is wrong with you that you think it’s an appropriate thing to say to someone you’ve essentially just met that you think they’re emotionally constipated.”

After a pause to consider his words, Gustav’s wings flutter, “I would never use such vulgar wording! However, I do understand the point you’re raising, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Water under the bridge.”

Gustav nods with a satisfied hum, turning back to his latest project, some sort of metal sculpture. He’d flown over the shipwrecks Stella stopped at for some extra supplies to snag as many pieces of metal and ruined wood as he could, claiming to need them for some reason. He’s bent all of the metal into some crude shape of a chair, using the wood as a support frame. You’re not sure what this is all supposed to represent, but it seems to give Gustav some sort of satisfaction so you don’t question it.

Just as you’re starting to get into your book, Stella bursts into the room, Daffodil not far behind her. She points to her mouth, mimicking eating, and draws a heart in the air. Ah, she’s asking what Gustav’s favorite food is.

“Hey, birdbrain, Stella’s asking you what your favorite food is.”

Gustav whirls around, clearly offended by the nickname. He points an angry wing at you with an ‘I’ll deal with you later’ look scrawled all over his face before turning to Stella. “My, skipper, what brought this on? Are you just that interested in the inner machinations of Gustav?”

Stella just stares at him, sharing a quick look with you and Daffodil. She shakes her head, bouncing up and down a bit, in a shoddy (but very endearing) imitation of what must be Atul.

Gustav still seems to have a bit of trouble working out the nuances of Stella’s nonverbal communication, so you help him out a bit.

“Is Atul finally getting that banquet thing he’s always talking about together?”

Stella nods excitedly, her big hat flopping up and down.

“Ah, Atul!” Gustav finally understands what Stella is here for, “Well why didn’t you say so? My favorite food is surstromming! Let’s see if you’re up to task on your cooking, skipper.”

“Prick,” you mutter under your breath, because whose favorite food is some obscure foreign dish that probably looks and smells as disgusting as all the other food Gustav craves?

“Hey!” Gustav stomps his talons, disgruntled, “I heard that! Don’t think you can keep getting away with this!”

Stella giggles as she skips out of Gustav’s room, waving goodbye to you while you undergo a barrage of spirited attacks from a certain angry falcon’s wings. 

The banquet is beautiful and cozy, up on a rooftop of a Hummingberg apartment building with Astrid, Atul, Gustav, and Stella. Astrid sips her chicken noodle soup while speaking quietly to Gustav. You can see the two of them bantering about some artist, Nash, or something? Honestly you don’t care enough to eavesdrop.

You lean against Atul’s broad frame. Something doesn’t seem quite right with him, but you’re too awkward to broach the subject.

“Thank you for coming,” Atul pats your shoulder, and you have to stop yourself from crying.

“Of course I would,” you glance up at him, “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Atul scoops another generous portion of pork chops into his gullet, “Of course not, I had every faith in you, Gwen.”

 _That_ makes you almost weep. You’ve caught yourself before almost calling Atul ‘dad,’ but you always manage to stop yourself. You know this feeling. You know it. This feeling of desperately trying to cling onto someone before they leave, you recognize it coming from a mile away. Honestly, you’ve known for a while now.

You take a shaky breath, “I see.”

Because you do.

Atul disappears the next day without a trace.

And it breaks you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, the dreaded disappearance is upon us. i'd heard, going into the game, that atul disappears at some in the game without explanation, so i delayed some of his quests because i didn't want him to go. but when he asks stella to ask what everyone's favorite food is, i realized that that was the beginning of the end, and i think that kind of reflects in this chapter, lol.
> 
> also! i really, really love the idea of nonverbal stella. i don't think the people on the ship would know really any sign language, so she uses more general hand movements to communicate. bonus points to whoever can guess what gustav's art sculpture is supposed to represent >:)


End file.
